


Experimental Data

by allofthefandoms



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: BDSM, Blood Play, Hand Jobs, M/M, PWP, cab shag, pain play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-10
Updated: 2012-06-10
Packaged: 2017-11-07 10:12:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/429866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allofthefandoms/pseuds/allofthefandoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John swears he was only trying to look out for his hair-brained excuse for a friend.  The fact that Sherlock couldn't leave his own injuries well enough alone was not his fault.  The fact that Sherlock got turned on when he took glass out of his arm was really not his fault either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Experimental Data

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed the warnings. This is basically frantic sex in the back of a cab caused by Sherlock falling on someone's glass recycling and getting glass in his arm. And then getting a hard-on when John removes them. And yes, I know the proper first aid procedure for things stuck in limbs is to leave them in but ARTISTIC LICENCE BITCH!
> 
> And many thanks to my brit-picker, beta and fellow RP'er Leah. I never could have turned this into a real story without you.

“Those marks on his stomach. Of course Anderson missed it the first time. So. Obvious. Could have solved this more quickly if it weren't for the incompetence of the Yard,” Sherlock rambled off as he pulled John down the street. “ But still. Quite a boring story. She could have done it more dramatically.” 

He didn’t even stop as he pulled out his phone to text Lestrade.

“Boring is just the word I would use to describe running across half of London when I don’t know why. You of all people should know better,” John sighed, once again not following Sherlock’s train of thought. “Sherlock, where exactly are we? We’ve been walking for an hour.” 

“Seriously, John. Keep up. Those fingernail marks on the chest, which they been overlooked, contained fragments of a special type of organic nail polish. This polish is only used in one shop in all of London. To have an affair with a man of that stature, the killer/mistress CLEARLY would regularly go to the spa. Even I can figure that out from those magazines you keep in your room, “ he smirked back to John. “That organic polish lasts two weeks. When she killed him, the polish was already beginning to chip meaning time for a new manicure. According to the victim’s schedule, Tuesdays were the only days he could meet with her. She would obviously want to be fresh for that day. So every other Monday she goes to the spa. He would not have an affair with someone too far below him, so she probably is professional, meaning she could not have time to go until after work. The spa we passed two blocks back uses the special nail polish. It closes at 5, however, for a special client---a regular---they stay open. Today is Monday. There was only one client in the shop. She is the murderer. Honestly. it's very obvious.” 

Sherlock looked at his phone then suddenly twirled around and took off running in the direction from which they came. 

“John! I just realized something! But we have to hurry, before Lestrade gets there!” 

John sighed and turned around just in time to see Sherlock run into a man setting out a recycling container full of glass bottles.

“SHERLOCK!” 

But it was too late. The full impact of a man Sherlock’s size running, full speed, sent the old man flying along with the bottles. Sherlock landed on his left side on the bulk of the bottles,now just broken glass. John ran over as Sherlock slowly lifted himself up, looking angry. Before he could yell at the old man, still lying on sidewalk dazed, John grabbed him, waved an apology, and force-walked Sherlock away from the scene. 

“Christ, Sherlock. You could have KILLED that man,” John’s exasperated tone masked how glad he was Sherlock was at least wearing his long trench coat and looked unharmed. 

“That man got in my way while I was thinking. I am used to things in my way moving on their own. Not continuing to get in my way.”

John just shook his head and sighed. No point in arguing with the great Sherlock Holmes over this. 

Sherlock continued walking as if nothing had happened. Only when he reached up to fix his tousled hair did John have a chance to run a critical eye over Sherlock’s arm where he fell. He immediately noticed a bloody patch on the inside of the arm. 

“Sherlock are you--?”

Sherlock continued to walk and furrowed his brow as he glanced at his phone. 

“Look at me. I think you're injured.” Sherlock gave him a long look, equal parts confusion and aloofness, as though injury were beyond him.

“John. What are you talking about?” He didn’t even pause for an answer. “Hurry along now. Yard is slow, yes, but we have been delayed.” He then glanced at his arm, seemingly noticing the bloody tear for the first time. John gave a long suffering sigh.

“Sherlock,” John said as he reached out and firmly grasped his friend’s right arm, “ as a doctor and you friend, I am not letting you take another step without me looking at your injury.” 

The assertiveness in John’s voice made Sherlock pause. Intriguing. This is something new, he thought and turned his focus to in-charge-John. 

“We are getting in a cab. Going back to Baker Street. And I’m going to fix your arm,” the look on Sherlock’s face made each line come out more passive than the previous. It was almost impossible for John to stare into Sherlock’s eyes and not suddenly feel as if he were the smallest person on Earth. 

Despite this quick role reversal, Sherlock did not make any moves against what John mentioned.   
Still grasping him by the right arm, John hailed a cab for them.

“Sometimes I feel more like your nanny than your flatmate,” John sighed as they got in the cab and gave the address. “Please take your coat off so I can take a look.” 

Sherlock gave him a level glare as he tugged at his coat sleeve. A sharp hiss made John stiffen, and he frowned at the amount of blood he could now see. There was also glass embedded in the wounds, which only made John more upset.

“I. um. There's not enough room for me to pull it off. Can you grab the sleeve?”   
John gently took Sherlock’s arm so he could take a closer look. He could see that at least one of the shards had broken off and had peeled back skin, but it was hard to make any real judgement while threads of wool and cotton were lodged in the cuts. John shook his head. The last thing he wanted to do was pull on the wounds, but he wasn’t too sure Sherlock would be keen on him ruining the coat.

“If I had my way I would cut the sleeve off entirely but I suspect you'd get mad. And besides, we are in a bloody cab. Tell me if I hurt you,” John gently tugged on the sleeve.

“This coat is meaningless. However, I don't have another. Not like any of your jumpers would fit me. So, I would prefer if you refrained from cutting the coat,” Sherlock stared resolutely ahead. 

The two of them awkwardly struggled as they tried to get Sherlock out of his coat. John was getting more and more irritated because Sherlock didn’t realize how seriously he was injured.

“Sherlock, how do you manage not to notice that you have three decently sized pieces of glass lodged in your arm? Your lack of self-preservation never ceases to amaze me. I do hope you have a spare shirt because I am not ruining another jumper patching you up again.”

“You know very well that when I'm in my mind palace nothing can interfere. I can’’t feel cold, heat, hunger, or pain,” Sherlock was using his ‘you’re a blithering moron’ voice again. “Use this shirt. I have plenty,”John almost missed the strange look that flickered over Sherlock’s face. “Your jumpers, however, are more unique.” The moment was gone, and Sherlock continued on in his usual manner. “Really though, average people are silly, “ his mind dragging him back to the case,” I need to talk to Lestrade. There was something that did not make sense, even to me. I believe there is another victim. The wife. She went after the wife, too.”

Sherlock fumbled with his right hand around in his coat pockets to get his phone.   
Go 2 house. wife dead 2. mrre evidence ther SH.   
Certainly Lestrade would think he was drunk or high, however there was nothing he could do about that. It was ridiculously hard to type one-handed. Feeling more satisfied, he replaced the phone and put the coat beside him. 

“God forbid there ever comes a day where you are not being looked after,” sighed John. “It will be the death of you.”

Sherlock turned away and grinned to himself. He liked John doting on him. Especially when John frowned and his forehead creased up perfectly. He actually wished he could have seen John in action in Afghanistan. 

“On my count we are both going to lift the shirt straight up. It is going to hurt, no way around it. The blood has started to dry and I will have to rip it open again to remove the cloth. And no poking at the glass when its done, you hear?” After a quiet count, John lifted the sleeve in one quick motion. Sherlock looked pained for just a millisecond, but that was long enough for John to know he really was in pain. 

A soft grimace flickered over John’s face. Sherlock seemed fascinated by the gashes on his arm, unfazed by the fact that he was sitting in a taxi in nothing but his trousers, his shirt in John’s hands and his coat in his lap. John was having a slightly harder time paying attention. He didn’t realise it was possible to have skin that flawless. John almost though that if he reached out and touched it it would be cold. He shook his head, banishing the thought. Fortunately, Sherlock chose just this moment to muse out loud.

“I can't NOT play with specimens, John. I may need to know the best way to impale someone with glass.” John rolled his eyes. A dazed look crossed Sherlock’s face,“It's quite beautiful. The look of blood on pale skin.” 

“DON'T TOUCH THAT,” hissed John, swatting at Sherlock’s prodding hand. “ You of all people should know how shallow major veins and arteries are in the arm! And if you had listened to me sooner, it would have hurt less, so don't blame me for your own stupidity.” John was glad Sherlock had given him something else to focus on.

As John tore the shirt into strips, he couldn’t help but sneak glances at Sherlock as he eyed the glass in his arm. But he wasn’t reaching for it any more. John smirked to himself, The damn bastard listens to me.

“The cephalic vein is my favorite. You see it, but no one pays mind to it. But it’s fantastic. And very important. It reminds me of you, John,” Sherlock’s voice was lower and deeper than normal, but it sent shivers down John’s spine. Sherlock continued without ever looking up, “John Watson. You are like a vein. Always there. Always supporting. But more dangerous than anyone could ever imagine.”

Sherlock pushed his index finger into the opening created by one of the glass shards, then rubbed the blood on his finger on John’s face next to his mouth. John hadn’t even realized he’d stopped ripping and was gripping the shirt in his hands until his knuckles were white. 

“That looks magnificent on you,” Sherlock purred into John’s ear. 

Without catching Sherlock’s eyes, John flicked out his tongue to catch the droplet of blood, “Is this...?”

“Me. In the most pure form. It goes well with your skin color,” Sherlock said completely mesmerized. 

John paused for a moment and took a deep sigh, “Look at me Sherlock. Is this...no. This is not an experiment of yours. You aren’t going to get your way..to be careless.” 

“John,” Sherlock looked up to meet his stern gaze, “ I’m euphoric. I’ve just solved a case brilliantly. And now, all I want to do are dangerous things.” 

He leaned in to John and licked the rest of his blood from that perfect mouth and let his tongue hover over the doctor’s tensed lips, “John, I need you to pull the glass out of my arm.”

Sherlock pulled his face away and placed his left hand on John’s thigh to prop it up. “That’s not the best,” John gasped at the contact with his leg,” idea. Let me stabilize it until we get home. You could bleed more if I pull them out.” 

Sherlock had pushed himself as close to John as possible, “It doesn’t matter, “he hissed in a way which made John’s hairs stand on end. “I want to feel it. I need it. Do it quickly if you must and then wrap it, but I need it.”

John could hear the slight change in his voice. It sounded more shallow and ragged. Sherlock could hide emotion with his body and his face, but John knew better than anyone that his voice would always give him away. It was like his Achilles’ heel. 

“But...I don’t want to hurt you,” he sighed as he gently touched the largest of the shards. “ Regardless of your pain tolerance, if I think you’re in pain, it will hurt me.” 

“Nothing you ever do, John, can hurt me,” Sherlock whispered as he turned to study John’s face. As he did so, he slip his hand up John’s thigh.“You should know that by now. But I think I may be able to take your mind off of it.” 

John followed Sherlock’s gaze from his eyes down to his hand which was resting closely to John’s crotch. 

John felt his face flush as his eyes widened. It wouldn’t have been so bad if he weren’t extremely turned on by Sherlock’s forwardness. And the fact he was currently patient-Sherlock, not consulting detective-Sherlock. When did a shag in the back of a rush hour cab become appealing, he thought as he quickly pulled Sherlock’s arm closer to wrap it.

“I...um, really need to get this wrapped. You’re going to cover the taxi in blood if you continue poking at it.” 

“It’s not that bad,” Sherlock protested as he leaned over to lick some blood from his arm. “You know, some people see blood as an elixir.” 

The pause let John breathe normally for a change. However, not keen on keeping John in control, Sherlock moved his hand to firmly grasp John’s erection through his pants, “Now I’m not going to tell you again. Remove. The. Glass. So I can use my arm.” 

John gasped louder than he meant to as Sherlock grabbed him. The pause between his words helped make Sherlock’s normally sensual voice seem almost terrifying. Unsure of exactly how to respond, he took a deep breath and slowly pulled the largest piece of glass from Sherlock’s arm. 

“If you don’t stop,” John winced as Sherlock tightened his hand, “teasing me I very well may break this off in your skin.” As he pulled Sherlock made the most inhuman but most erotic noise the doctor had ever heard. It wasn’t loud, but it reverberated through John’s body. John took his fingers, now covered in Sherlock’s blood and licked them.

“John, I need you to do it again.”

“Mmmhh. You’re right,” he whispered as he leaned into Sherlock’s ear, not quite ready to remove the second piece, “ the blood. I think I already feel it going to my head.” 

Sherlock pulled his face from John’s and watched him use his tongue to clean the blood from two fingers. Sherlock couldn’t help but be fascinated by the sight. 

“You like this don’t you?” John inquired, half jokingly. “The pain. Funny, I never took you for that kind of bloke.” This time as he pulled out the glass, he placed his lips at the base of it and gently sucked on the skin around it. 

This time Sherlock’s entire body shook as the glass came out. Oh, God! That noise again, John closed his eyes and focused on running his tongue over the fresh wound. 

“Pain is as close to some emotions I will ever get. I can...relate to it. It makes me feel more human. It’s not easy for me to relate to a lot of things...or people, John,” Sherlock said as he moved his hand up to John’s waistband and began to slip his hand down his pants. 

“You seem pretty human now, Sherlock,” John laughed darkly. “Completely unwound in the back of a cab because I wanted to look after you. But tell me. If it comes to it, could you look after me? Are you human enough to help me right now?”

“I find your lack of faith unnerving. You are my first flatmate since I dropped out of college. Don’t take that lightly. You think I overlook you, but are you really that blind?”

Sherlock was annoyed by John’s constant undermining. Sherlock turned until their faces were inches apart and studied him. Noticing some of his blood still on John’s lips he leaned in to kiss him. 

“I need you to show me how to help you.”

The moist breath of that almost guttural voice on John’s skin made him tingle. But he slowly regained himself, “I just...don’t want to mess this up. Whatever *this* is. I can’t see why someone like you...”

Instead of finishing his sentence, John pushed his mouth against Sherlock’s into a much deeper, passionate kiss than before. As he let himself explore every bit of Sherlock’s mouth, he used his hand to remove the last piece of glass. Without removing his mouth from John’s, Sherlock moaned directly into his mouth. 

“Oh. God, John. I need this,” he whispered as he put his free hand on John’s chest. “This feeling is hypnotic. But only with you.” 

Sherlock gently ran his hand over John’s shirt and down again to his pants. “You have no idea how good that felt, but I will try to make you feel the same way.” 

Sherlock slowly lowers his hand into John’s pants. “I won’t break if you touch me,” John whispered noticing some hesitation on Sherlock’s part. To help ease Sherlock’s mind, John placed his lips to the still slightly oozing wounds on his arm. 

The feeling of John’s lips on his skin sent Sherlock over the edge and to keep from moaning he attached his mouth to John’s neck just above his jumper’s collar and for the first time brushed his hand against the skin of John’s cock.

“Is this okay?” he asked as he felt himself flush. 

 

“M-more than,” John grasped on to Sherlock’s arm and continued to run his tongue around the wounds, “Are you okay? Not in any pain?”

“Just a little,” he paused, but filled in quickly, “it helps my brain.”   
Beginning to feel more confident, he took. John’s erection completely in his hand and stroked the tip. 

John did his best to stifle his moaning by clamping his teeth down on Sherlock’s shoulder, “Faster, please.” 

“We’re almost home, John,” Sherlock whispered into his ear as he increased his hand motion to a steady cadence on John.   
John licked down Sherlock’s arm running circles around the tender wounds again and brought his hand down Sherlock’s chest to his waistband.   
“May I?” Without waiting for an answer, he slid his hand into Sherlock’s pants.

“Only if I can lick your lips,” he moaned as he stared hungrily at John’s blood-darkened lips. he pushed his mouth as close to John’s as he could, taking in everything, tasting the remains of his blood in John’s mouth. He gasped as he felt John’s firm hand wrap around his hardening cock. He tried to say something but it ended up coming out garbled. 

John quickened his pace as he stroked Sherlock to meet the pace at which Sherlock had him. Trying desperately to not make any noise, John continued to suck on Sherlock’s shoulder. Sherlock was completely focused on his hand on John’s erection until he hit a particularly sensitive spot on John’s neck with his teeth which made John tighten his grip in Sherlock’s pants. 

“Oh. God. John,” he huffed into his ear, “ I can’t--I’m not--used--to...”   
His voice gave away as John more vigorously stroked him and his body began to tremble under the pressure. 

“Damn it,” escaped his clenched teeth as his body lurched up shivering. He felt himself go completely weak, but didn’t give up his effort on John. He erratically stroked John until he felt his body stiffen and then release onto him. 

“Can you let go for me?” John asked haggardly biting on Sherlock’s ear. 

“Oh. Yes,” Sherlock loosened his grip on John’s cock and felt his head slowly returning to the cab. He pulled himself together and moved slightly away from John. Not quite sure of what to do, he took his hand, still damp from John, and put it on his own cheek.

John couldn’t help but laugh, ‘You look beautiful like that. All spent.” 

“And you look delicious,” Sherlock leaned in to kiss him, “ like Christmas.” 

And if you keep that up, we’ll never leave the cab.” 

“Oh. Yes. Do you mind helping me with this?” Sherlock grabbed his coat, “ I’m starting to feel a bit numb...in my arm.”

John inspected the sluggishly bleeding arm as he wrapped it in the ripped shirt and helped Sherlock into his coat, trying to ignore the flush still high on his cheeks. “I never should have agreed to that, knowing you had an injury like this. I am sure you'll be incredibly woozy when you try to stand and I still need to put stitches in it when we get home.” Even as John said the words, the cab pulled to a steady stop in front of 221b Baker Street. John slipped a handsome tip to the cab driver for all the mess, and hauled Sherlock to his feet after he opened the door and stepped out. To his concern, Sherlock immediately slumped back against the door frame, the look on his face an odd mixture of pain and pleasure.

“Stitches, doctor? If you'd told me you'd do stitches for me, I would have ripped my arm open sooner.” John bit back a snarl, still flustered. “I've always wanted to watch, especially done on me,” Sherlock went on, as John manhandled him up the stairs to the door of the flat. 

“Well, if you had listened to my advice,”John began before noticing the blissed out look on Sherlock’s face, “I've made a demon out of you, Sherlock Holmes,” John hissed, utterly flummoxed. “I hope you don't go looking for trouble because I've expressed the ability and interest in patching you up. I'll put Mycroft on you if you aren't bloody well careful.” 

John knew that Mycroft would help if he asked and knew how much Sherlock would hate it, but the threat didn’t even seem to register. John fumbled for the door with one hand, wishing that the door was unlocked for once, but Mrs. Hudson came to the door, her eyes wide with alarm.

“He’s not badly hurt, Mrs. Hudson,” John assured her. “Nothing I can’t patch up myself.” I hope, John thought. He felt Sherlock try to pull away, but John tightened his grip. “Lean on me until I can get you properly tended to.” 

Sherlock almost collapsed into John’s shoulder. “You're MY doctor. I will take whatever advice you offer. One must not argue with his doctor. But I didn't say I'd go easily.” There was still surprising strength in him as he pulled John close, and John felt his heart stutter as Sherlock pressed his mouth to John’s ear, the smallest flutter of breath making John shudder.

“I was already a demon.” There was a note of something in Sherlock’s voice that made John pull away, his throat tight.

“No, Sherlock. You were a man. A brilliant, odd and impossible man but a man.” There was a noticeable sag in Sherlock, and John was almost surprised by the weight. The two of them staggered upstairs, John taking more and more of Sherlock’s weight as they went. John had to force his mind to quiet its leaping concern. He slipped Sherlock into the maroon easy chair, frowning as he saw the unusual grayness in his skin.

“Please try to leave well alone while I get the first aid kit. I don't want to find you bled out on the floor because you were bloody curious, “John forced the words to come out lightly, but he knows that Sherlock has overtaxed himself again, and that his anxiety was written all over his face despite his best efforts to mask it. He turned towards the kitchen where he kept a well stocked first aid kit.

“I believe I can manage that,” Sherlock said, relenting under John’s obvious concern. “Is it always this exhausting?” John didn’t turn, shaking his head as he sterilized a needle with a match.

“This won’t be pleasant Sherlock,” He said, his voice almost a sigh. “You’ll need about 6 stitches. As for the exhaustion, that is most likely because you’ve lost about a half a pint of your blood.” A soft grin played at John’s mouth as he thought of all the things that could happen. “But I would be happy to test this with you further at a later date.”


End file.
